


The Basics and the Simple Life

by rumpelsnorcack



Series: Make me feel at ease [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Check Please Big Bang 2016, M/M, cpbb, various other characters from Mama Bittle and Moo Maw to Shitty and Chowder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpelsnorcack/pseuds/rumpelsnorcack
Summary: "His younger self would have been shocked if he could see Bitty now, but Bitty wouldn’t have changed anything he’d been through.  It had all been part of leading him to this point."A series of conversations with a variety of people helps Bitty deal with formative moments in his life, including how to cope with the changing moods of a certain team captain.





	1. Skating

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Check, Please! big bang. Many many thanks to my beta-readers strangetowns and mollywheezy for all the help and support and for pushing me to make this better than I could have managed myself.
> 
> Art by the very talented Rosemuse Rosemuse (see her art tumblr here: rosesdrawings )
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I have called Bitty by whatever name the PoV character in each conversation would think of him. This means he is variously Dicky, Eric, Bitty and Junior - and that even changes within his own thoughts. Hopefully that doesn't get too confusing for anyone.

“Mama?” Eric asked, quiet and serious as he helped her measure out the flour for her next pie crust.  His focus was intense as he held the cup as straight as he could while he shook the surplus flour off the top. 

“Yeah, Dicky?” 

Suzanne watched him closely, ready to step in if his still slightly pudgy fingers slipped with one of the ingredients.  Eric was extremely sure fingered for a seven year old, but even he sometimes dropped a little too much flour in the bowl which made the crust too dry.   

“Mama, I wanna ice skate.” 

“That’s … that’s quite an interesting idea, Dicky.” 

Suzanne frowned as she hovered behind him, hands poised ready to grab the whisk he was now using if required, but he held it steady.  His fingers were surprisingly deft considering his age and their size.  She waited while he whisked, assuming he would speak again to explain, but he stayed silent, his tongue slipping out and tucking into the corner of his mouth while he concentrated on the task at hand.  Suzanne tried again. 

“Why do you want to skate?” 

He flushed and glanced up at her, his hand stilling. 

“Well, Coach really likes football, huh?” 

Bewildered, Suzanne nodded. 

“He really wants me to play.” 

It wasn’t a question, and Suzanne gave another nod.  This wasn’t news to anyone. This time, however, Eric bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he thought about what he was saying.  She watched as he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before looking up at her solemnly.  His obvious worry made her heart squeeze.

“I just … I don’t like football, Mama.” 

Suzanne could tell her shock must show on her face because Eric’s own face fell as he watched her, the vibrant joy of seconds ago lost in a brittle mask.  He turned back to the bowl with a cheerful smile, the strain barely showing in the corners of his lips.   

“What’s next?” Eric’s voice was chirpy and light, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

Suzanne’s heart sank.  She was so concerned she reached out a hand to his shoulder and said the first thing that came to her mind. 

“Dicky.  Honey.  You always said you loved football.  Your dad’s been so proud …” 

Eric blushed, the brittle smile widening a fraction, before he looked her square in the eyes again and said, “I don’t.  I don’t like it.”   

Unhappiness filled his voice and made her heart clench as he looked away towards the pie dough.  It was as if he didn’t want her to see his face -- or, the terrible thought struck her, as if he didn’t want to see whatever he expected _her_ face to look like.  

“I didn’t want to make him sad, is all.  So I kept playing.  But now,” he took a breath and looked up at her again.  “Now, I don’t want to.” 

Suzanne’s breath caught in her throat at the desperation she saw in his eyes.  Surely this wasn’t normal for a seven year old?  Surely seven year olds weren’t supposed to be this poised as they stated their desires, even while it was obvious they wanted something terribly.  She patted his hand in what she hoped was a comforting manner. 

“Oh honey.  Don’t you know you could never make him sad?  He’s your dad.  He loves you.” 

She caught the look of disbelief that flickered across his face before he turned away again.  Suzanne knew her husband could come across as distant, or even gruff and cold sometimes, but she also knew he loved his son more than anything.  Trying to shake off her own sadness that Eric couldn’t see his father the way she did, Suzanne smiled at her son. 

“I’m not sure what this has to do with ice skating, though.” 

Eric’s entire face lit up, and the transformation made her heart skip a beat. 

“Oh, Mama,” he breathed, a huge smile on his face.  “The people.  They’re so pretty when they skate.  They look like they’re flying.  I want to fly.  Can I fly like them if I learn, Mama?” 

“I … I guess so, Dicky.  If that’s what you really want.” 

“Can you … would you talk to Coach, Mama?  I want to skate.  I don’t want to play football, but I … I don’t want to ...”

Suzanne sighed.  She wished Eric was more confident with his father.  She was sure that with a bit of effort they could both have a great relationship.  But she was also wise enough to know that now wasn’t the time to push that.  Eric was right -- football meant a lot to his father, and there was no way he was going to take this new idea well, at least not at first.  She smiled lovingly at Eric.

“Of course I will, sweetheart.  Now,” she clapped her hands and pointed at the bowl before them, “we need to finish this pie crust.  It’s not going to bake itself, now is it?”

Eric giggled appreciatively and picked up the whisk again, ready to go.


	2. Baking

Eric felt happy here in Moo Maw’s kitchen.  She was shuffling around the room while she chattered.  The oven was on and they had already started baking two pies, one apple, one pecan, and the warmth from the oven soaked into his heart, making it feel lighter.  The scent of cinnamon overlaid everything and the familiarity made Eric smile.  Moo Maw’s kitchen always smelled like this and it never failed to make him feel happy, no matter how the rest of the day was going. 

“Now, child, you just gonna sit down right over there and tell your old Moo Maw what’s wrong.”   

Moo Maw’s voice cut into his thoughts and made him startle.  He blushed; he could feel it creeping up his neck and into his cheeks as he stared at her. 

“What …” he swallowed, putting as vibrant a smile on as he could muster.  “What makes you think there’s something wrong, Moo Maw?” 

“Please.  I’ve been baking with you since you were a tiny snippet of a thing, and you’ve never been this sidetracked in all that time.  And that smile of yours just hasn’t been so present today.” 

She patted his cheek as she placed a large slice of pie in front of him.  “Now you just tell me what’s wrong and we’ll try to get through it together.” 

“It’s nothing.  Nothing I can’t deal with, anyway,” Eric added as he saw his Moo Maw’s mouth opening ready to scold him. 

“Well, that’s as may be, Eric, but you know what they say -- a problem shared is a problem halved.”

“You know, I never did understand that one, Moo Maw.  How can a problem split in half if you share it?  It seems to me it’s more likely that it grows ‘cause it’s burdening two folks now.  It makes more sense to keep it inside and work through it …”

He broke off abruptly as she placed her hand on his arm. 

“Eric, honey, you’re rambling again.  Two heads are always better than one,” she added firmly.  “Besides, you know I ain’t gonna stop now that I know there’s something, so you may as well spit it out.” 

Eric sighed.  He knew she was right.  She’d always been like a dog with a bone if someone had a problem.  The longer he put it off, the worse she was going to get.  He stared at his plate for a long moment, trying to work out what he wanted to say. 

“Is it …?  Am I … weird, Moo Maw?” 

“Weird?  Why, no, Eric, I wouldn’t have said so.  What makes you ask?”

“It’s just … some kids have always said things to me.  And now.  Well.”  He took a deep breath and looked at her, feeling his heart pound as he did so.  Saying this was harder than  he’d imagined it when sitting in his room this morning.  “They say baking’s for girls and so I must be a weirdo or a girl.” 

“Oh, honey.  Sounds to me like they’re just jealous.” 

“No.  I’m sure it’s not that.”  Eric shook his head firmly, trying to divert her from this idea, irritation stabbing at him briefly.  That’s what everyone said when he told them what people said, but in his gut he _knew_ that wasn’t the problem.  “I just.  I don’t play football like the others, I do figure skating, I bake a lot.  I don’t … I don’t fit in.” 

Moo Maw looked at him, her eyes sharp.  “Do you want to fit in?” 

“Yeah.  Maybe.  I feel like … like, it would be nice to be like the other kids.  Then maybe they wouldn’t …” 

“They wouldn’t what?  Sweetheart, what’s really going on?” 

“They’re not … not very nice to me,” Eric said, his eyes fixed on the pie in front of him.  He still hadn’t taken a bite, but he didn’t feel hungry.  The idea of eating choked him.  To his horror, he could feel tears pricking behind his eyelids, and he turned his head away, hoping that Moo Maw wouldn’t see. 

Her hand, when it landed back on his, was gentle.   

“Sweetheart.  There are always going to be bullies and hateful words out there.  All you can do is keep being your own kind self and try to ignore them.” 

Eric took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to smile at her.

“I know, Moo Maw.  It’s just hard sometimes.” 

“I know it is.  But you gotta be true to you.” 

Eric gulped and smiled at her again.  Intellectually he knew that, but being true to himself meant being something that he imagined almost everyone in Georgia would be appalled by.  He couldn’t even bring himself to say it to his own family.  He didn’t want to risk the look in their eyes as they rejected him.  There were days when he thought he could just do it -- be the same as all the other kids.  But then he remembered that being like them would mean giving up everything that he loved, and he couldn’t bring himself to go through with it. 

“You’re right.  I just gotta deal with it, like I said.  I jus’ gotta be stronger.” 

Moo Maw smiled again, and patted his hand.

“You’ll do okay, child.  You’re stronger than you think.  Now.”  She pushed the plate closer towards him.  “Eat up.  You gotta tell me how good that pie is before the next ones come out of the oven.  Tell me about your skating.  How’re the new routines coming along?” 

Eric allowed himself to relax into the moment, even tucking into the pie that had seemed so unappetising just moments ago.  He started telling her about the new things Katya was pushing him to try out, and how excited he was about them.  She smiled and asked the right questions at the right times, and the earlier conversation faded into memory by the time he pushed away from the table and headed home.


	3. Madison

Katya could feel her eyes pulling into a squint as she watched Eric practicing his routine.  He looked as relaxed as usual on the ice.  Katya had never trained anyone like Eric before; he always appeared calm and his shoulders were always flowing from one movement to the next no matter how hard he was working.  Eric had the gift of never showing how much effort any given move cost him; it was one of the many reasons he was so successful.  But there was a difference today -- he wasn’t pushing himself as hard as usual.  His face had its usual sweet smile, his body was performing its usual contortions as apparently effortlessly as always, and his focus was as intense as ever.  But there was something missing.  The determination she had always been able to discern in his eyes was absent. 

As he slid to a finish, catching his breath and glancing over to her, Katya waved her hand and called him in.   

“What’s the problem today?” 

Because she was watching him so closely, Katya caught the slight flicker of surprise (or maybe resignation, she couldn’t be sure) that crossed his features. 

“Nothing, Katya.  Everything’s fine.” 

He flashed her his usual smile -- full-wattage power, the one that generally reassured everyone that Eric was feeling on top of the world.  Katya, however, had known him for too long to be fooled. 

“Bullshit,” she said and he blanched, the smile slipping a little.  “You are not pushing yourself as much as usual and I need to know why.” 

He sighed, his shoulders slumping, and then he looked at her.  The expression in his eyes stabbed at her heart.  It was desolate. 

“I don’t know for sure, mind,” he said, “but … we’re moving. And I’m not sure I can keep training here.” 

“I know.” 

His expression turned from sadness to surprise as he turned to gape at her.

“You know?  How could you know?” 

Katya smiled at him gently.  “Child.  Your mother, she does not do things on a whim, yes?  She has already spoken to me.  We are trying to work something out for you.”

Eric gaped at her.  “She never told me.  She said … she said we had to move and maybe skating was going to have to be set aside.  For my education.  She said.” 

He looked up at Katya, his expression an odd mix of desperate hope, and resigned sadness. 

“Yes.  It is difficult.  It will be difficult.  You may need to move yourself, yes?” 

Now his face twisted into confusion.  “I’m not sure what you mean, Katya.  I’m already moving.” 

“To improve, yes?  You may need to move somewhere with more professionals to train you.  I cannot do much more with you.  To go further, you must find someone better.”

“I … I hadn’t thought about it.  Katya, you _are_ the best.” 

Katya laughed.  “No, Eric.  I push you hard, yes.  But to make your technique better, you must have another.  I am the best here, but not the best for you forever.” 

“Huh.” he said, his voice thoughtful.  The gaze he turned towards the ice was calculating.  “My mother said I could keep training?” 

“Yes, so long as you don’t mind the long drives and the extra work you must do.  But,” and here Katya touched his arm and ensured his eyes were on her again when she added, “this is not a long term situation.  You must make a decision about what you want to do.” 

“Okay.  This is a lot, Katya.” 

“I know, child.  But now you must put this aside and do some work today.  You must focus.  Properly focus.” 

“I know, Katya.  I will.” 

Eric headed back out to the ice, after listening carefully to Katya’s instructions for improvement.  This time he was totally in the moment.  He was back to razor sharp concentration, and the improvement in his style was significant.  Katya sighed.  She didn’t want to lose Eric; he was vastly better than any of her other charges.  But she knew she really was coming to the end of her usefulness with him, and his impending move was going to make things even more difficult.  She could tell that he wanted to continue; he’d been working towards this for a very long time, after all.  But she could also tell that he was reluctant to leave his family and everything he knew in order to truly pursue this.

It had also not escaped Katya that Eric’s father seldom came along to his competitions, and that he perhaps wasn’t as supportive as some of the other fathers she worked with.  While Katya felt that Eric had the ability to go to the top with his skating, she knew he would never manage it without the full support of both his parents.  And that, she thought sadly as she watched him on the ice, was an improbability.   

Shaking off the thought, Katya moved across the ice to where Eric was finishing his routine again. 

“That was better, child.  But you must push a little more through the middle.  See, like this …” she continued as she showed him what she meant, trying to keep her attention on the here and now rather than on what the future might bring.  Nothing was set in stone yet, after all.


	4. Samwell

Eric was gasping, his breath coming in stuttering pants after the brutal workout the coaches had just put them through.  He was sitting in his cubby in the locker room, his head between the hands resting on his knees as he tried to regulate his heart rate.  Beside him, Caleb was slumped, his hair matted and plastered to his head.  He wasn’t gasping, but his pale face and shaky hands were sure signs of his fatigue.  Not to mention the fact that he was still here, rather than stripped and in the showers like the rest of the team. 

Eric groaned and Caleb startled, pulled from whatever dream he’d been immersed in. 

“I swear that was the hardest practice yet,” Eric sighed.  “I have muscles aching that I never even knew existed.” 

Caleb chuckled.  “I hear that.” 

Eric looked at him carefully, taking in his tense posture and clenched fists.  Caleb had a tendency to believe he was playing atrocious hockey whenever he failed to live up to his own exacting standards.  Eric laid a gentle hand on his arm. 

“You played so well today, Caleb.  If we can transfer that to the game on Friday, we’ve got it in the bag.  The way you and Mandy played off of each other today was so good.  I swear I have the best team to captain.” 

“Thanks Eric,” Caleb said, his shoulders relaxing slightly.  He opened his mouth to speak again, but coloured a little, closing it again before finally blurting out, “did you …? Uh …?” he ran his hand up behind his head in what Eric recognised as one of his nervous gestures. 

“Did I, uh … what?” he said, his voice slightly teasing, trying to give Caleb the confidence to say whatever it was he was having difficulty articulating. 

“Did you see that Samwell University is offering a hockey scholarship?”   

It came out in a rush, and Eric’s heart squeezed in his chest.  He could feel it racing again, and his hands felt clammy.  He took a deep breath before answering.  He had, indeed, seen that Samwell was offering a scholarship.  But he hadn’t thought other people might think that university could be an interesting choice for him.  It was so far away that he was shocked Caleb had even heard of it, let alone suggested it as a possibility for Eric.  The idea of attending the college _was_ appealing, he couldn’t deny it, but it was imperative that other people remain ignorant of the reasons why.  He laughed lightly, attempting to push his panic down so Caleb wouldn’t pick up on it. 

“Sure did, Caleb.  Been tempted - help getting through college sounds mighty fine to me.” 

He forced a smile onto his face, hoping it looked natural, and turned to look Caleb in the eye. 

“Oh.  Oh, good.  That’s … that’s really good.” 

Caleb wasn’t quite meeting Eric’s eyes, though he was smiling too. 

“Not that they’d take me anyway,” Eric said, laughing.  “I ain’t even had experience with checking.  High school hockey’s nothing like college hockey.” 

“I guess not.”  Caleb’s voice was thoughtful.  “It would be good, though, right?  I mean … you’re the captain and we’ve been doing pretty well, I think.” 

Eric laughed again, his heart starting to come back to a normal pace now that he had moved the conversation safely into discussion of hockey, and not any of Samwell’s other well-known qualities. 

“Oh, bless you.  Bein’ captain’s no guarantee.  And there are so many other teams doing well right now too.” 

“Worth a shot though.” 

“Yeah.  Worth a shot.” 

On impulse, and against his better judgement, Eric couldn’t help asking, “why’d you think of me anyway?” 

Caleb swallowed and cast a nervous glance at Eric, who backed off a little, adding, “you could apply, even.” 

It was the right move.  Caleb visibly relaxed as he laughed the idea off. 

“Me?  No.  I’m not good enough.  Besides, I want to stay here.  I have … I mean, my girl’s still gonna be at school.  So.”

“Oh.”  Eric smiled at him.   

“And you seem like, no offense Eric … but you seem like you don’t want to be here.  Not for always anyway.  It seems like folks think you’re a bit different to us all and it seems like it gets under your skin a bit.” 

Eric could feel the blood draining from his face again, but he pulled on a cheerful smile in hopes that it would cover any strain he might be showing.  “Not so different as all that, Caleb.”  He sighed.  “But you’re right.  I love it here, but I want to see what else is out there.  You know?” 

Caleb laughed.  “No.  Not really.  But I admire you for it, you know?  So, I reckon you should think about it.  Could be a chance.”  He finally stood and began taking off his gear.  “I hear Samwell’s a very tolerant school.  That it’s easy to fit in there; might be a nice place to be.  You know, for those of us who might not quite fit in at home.” 

He slung his towel around his waist and headed towards the showers, leaving Eric gaping behind him.  He wasn’t sure, but he thought that maybe Caleb had just insinuated that he knew, or at least suspected, that Eric wasn’t straight … and that possibly he was hinting that _he_ might not be either.  Eric cursed his friend’s vague way of speaking.  Of course, it wasn’t polite to just come out and say whatever thing you might be thinking, but there were times when Eric wished Caleb would be even just a little more direct in his everyday speech.  Still, there was nothing he could do about it now -- he either meant what Eric suspected or he didn’t, and no amount of second guessing would make a difference, so he shook himself out of his thoughts and got himself ready for his shower. 

Shrugging, he wrestled his own gear off and headed to the shower stalls.  The rest of the team were finishing up so he and Caleb had the hot water to themselves.  Eric kept the conversation firmly on the practice they’d just had and the game coming up, but his mind kept drifting to the tantalising prospect of going to school up North.  It wouldn’t hurt to apply, after all.  What was the worst that could happen?  They’d say no and he’d go to a local college in Georgia.  And if they did accept him, then … well, then, his horizons opened up.


	5. Jack

Shitty perched on the edge of his bed with his legs crossed, and watched Bitty as he paced, waving his arms and talking a mile a minute.  He felt an upswell of affection for his teammate who was apparently so comfortable with Shitty that he didn’t mind tearing into Shitty’s best bro, who was, incidentally, also his own team captain. 

“... and then he told me to eat more protein.  Again.  I mean, Shitty, what is wrong with him?  Is it me?  Did I do something to upset him?  Are my pies not good enough?  There must be something.” 

“Brah.”  Shitty said, now that Bitty appeared to have wound down a little.  “Brah.  It’s not just you.  You know that, right?  He’s hard on everyone.” 

Bitty’s face did that thing it did sometimes, where it twisted into such a disdainful look that Shitty sighed.  It was going to be a long conversation, then. 

“Bits, bro.  It’s fucked up alright, but Jack’s just really intense about his hockey.  And …” 

“And I ruin that.  Yeah, understood.”  There was bitterness in his voice and Shitty felt a stab of irritation  mixed with his usual affection. 

“Bitty.  You are remarkably obtuse for a smart kid, you know that?” 

Bitty’s lips thinned, and he pulled himself up to his full height.  It was actually weirdly intimidating -- for a small guy, Bitty had a domineering presence when he wanted to.  “I have no idea what you mean.”

“I _mean_ , things are different now you’re here.  Not in a bad way, you know.  Just different.” 

“Because I’m gay, you mean?  Is it because of that?  Shitty … he’s been weird since before everyone knew, so how could it be that?  I .. do I make him uncomfortable?”  Bitty’s voice had taken on an uncertain tone, and he turned away so Shitty couldn’t see whatever cloud he was sure had come over his face.   Shitty reached out to pat his back in as comforting a way as he could from this distance. 

“Brah.  Brah, calm down,” he said before adding under his breath, “we really need some tub juice or something for this.”  He looked at Bitty and patted the bed next to him.  “Come sit down.  This’ll take a while because that fucker deserves a good talking to, but short of that I gotta tell you where it’s at.” 

When Bitty had reluctantly sat down beside him, body stiff and face downcast, Shitty leaned back against the pillows and started in on his story. 

“In a way you _do_ make him uncomfortable, but not for the reasons you think.”  Shitty held a hand up to stop Bitty’s next torrent of words.  “Not now, brah.  I’m on a roll, let me finish this up.  Okay, so.  You’ve gotta understand that Jack’s a creature of habit.  He likes his routines, and it drives me fucking crazy, Bits, but it seems to help him.  And you see, until you came everything was in a nice routine on the team.  We’d practice, we’d come back to the haus, we’d play some games, do some study.  It was all very predictable … and Jack’s the sort of guy who likes predictable.  I don’t know where he gets that from; thought I taught him better than that.  But anyway, then you came along with your pies and your speed and you shook things up.  Anyway, Jack, he can’t handle being shook up, you know?  Then there’s the checking thing.  And brah, you know we have your back on this, but it’s hit Jack hard.  Not only is his routine gone but he has this very unpredictable player who’s fucking brilliant but also fucking different.  So, you know.  Jack’s finding it hard.  And as captain he feels like it’s all a reflection on him.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bitty whispered.   

Now that Shitty has finished his impressive (if he did say so himself) monologue, he looked at Bitty.  He was curled into himself on the bed and looked like he might be trying to avoid crying.  Fuck.  That wasn’t supposed to happen, and Shitty had no real idea how to deal with this.  He wished Lardo was here; she was so much better at this stuff. 

“None of that now, Bits.  This isn’t your issue, it’s Jack’s.” 

“Thanks Shitty, I know you’re trying.  But it is me, isn’t it?  It’s my checking problem that’s doing this. _I’m_ why he’s always angry all the time. _I’m_ ruining the team.” 

Shitty gave another internal sigh.  This was definitely not the reaction he’d expected.  He tried again, making his voice softer and leaning forward to impress on Bitty how serious he was. 

“Bits, Bitty.  Tell me, is he trying to help you?” 

“Yeah, I guess.”  Slight shrug of the shoulder, small grimace on the face.  “There’s the checking practices in the mornings.” 

“Brah, I know Jack best of probably everyone, excepting maybe his lovely mother, and he is not the man to help someone he thinks is a lost cause.” 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”  Bitty’s voice was still lacking its usual vibrancy and life, but there was a glimmer of something there -- hope, maybe?   

“I mean, you’re a great player on your best days and Jack knows that.  He’s just trying to make this the best team he can.  Does he sometimes do that in an insensitive way?  Sure he does, but that’s Jack.  You just gotta … you know, let that fucker go.  Trust that he has your back, that we all do.” 

“It’s just ... I don’t like it when people don’t like me.” 

Bitty’s voice was so small that Shitty almost didn’t hear it. 

“Bits, bro.  I want none of that sort of talk in my hallowed space, you hear me?  He likes you -- we all like you.  Jack’s just an intense motherfucker and doesn’t know how to show his feelings properly.  Trust me, if he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t be busting his ass helping you with the fucking checking thing.” 

Bitty smiled -- it was a little tentative, but there -- and Shitty almost yelled his approval.  He only held back because the kid was sensitive and he might scare him or something. 

“Besides, you’re a literal ray of sunshine, my man.  Who could help liking you?” 

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that.” 

Bitty was blushing, his face a fiery red, but giving a natural happy-looking smile.  Shitty clapped his hand on his back. 

“Now, what say you come downstairs with me and make one of those pies of yours?” 

The smile that lit Bitty’s face this time was so blinding that Shitty internally high fived himself as they made their way down to the kitchen.  He was, now that he thought about it, the fucking _guru_ of serious talks.  Maybe he could hire himself out - world’s first naked relationship advisor had a nice ring to it.


	6. Unrequited

Bitty was sitting with his arms tight around his legs, and his chin propped on his knees. He was content, but his thoughts were still whirling. After his realisation, and subsequent confession on his vlog, thoughts of Jack kept intruding. It would be better, he thought, if he still thought Jack hated him. Back then, Bitty didn’t care one way or the other that Jack was the most devastatingly handsome guy he’d ever laid eyes on. Back then, he didn’t know how sweet and caring Jack was behind his awkward exterior. Back then, he had a chance to save his stupid heart. But now … now, Bitty was screwed. 

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he barely registered when Lardo slipped out the window behind him and onto the roof beside him. 

“Hey, Bits.” 

“Oh. Lardo. Hi. I was just …” he waved his hand at the lowering sun which was lighting up the view around them with burnished golds and shimmering pinks. Bitty pulled his thoughts away from Jack with a shake of his head. 

Lardo gave him a look, one he associated with her most astute moments and his heart hammered in his chest, but she said nothing, just patted his arm. 

“It is pretty. Some days I wish I could capture the way sunset looks here. There’s just something about it, you know?” 

“Mmmm.” Bitty was noncommittal, his head propped back on top of his knees and his thoughts drifting again. 

Lardo fell silent beside him. Eventually, she let out a deep sigh and said, “you know what I think, Bits? I think some days it would be nice to just sit out here and not worry about the world or anyone in it.” 

Bitty turned his head slightly and smiled at her. “Yeah, I think that sometimes too. Life would be so much less complicated if there were no other people. Just me and this big old world.” 

Lardo looked at him sharply, but again didn’t comment specifically, just nodded and lay her head back against the windowsill. Bitty was grateful. He wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else to know his new precious knowledge. It was too raw -- too fragile, too heartbreaking -- to share it with anyone else. Beside him, Lardo sighed again, bringing her knees up to mirror Bitty’s position. 

They sat like that for several long moments. Lardo was so easy to be with, Bitty reflected. She was at times brash and loud and about as bro-ish as anyone could get. But at other times, she was quiet, peaceful, her artist’s soul willing to just experience the world around her in reverent silence. As she sat beside him, he could almost hear her thoughts whirring the same way his own were, but she remained silent. He could almost feel the weight of whatever she was pondering and it felt as though her thoughts held some mirror to Bitty’s own. There was a symmetry between the way they were sitting together that made Bitty wonder if her thoughts were as bleak as his were. 

“Can I ask you something, Bits?” she said finally, her head still back and her eyes fixed on a tree which was rustling in the slight breeze coming across the campus. Her voice was a little tense, a slight hesitation between the words. 

Startled, Bitty looked her way again. “Sure.”

For a suspended moment, Lardo didn’t speak again. Bitty was just about to resume his previous position, when it came out, so soft he almost didn’t hear, but held in the words was all the confirmation he needed that she was as confused and wound up as he was. 

“How do you stop loving someone?” Her eyes were hard, but there was a gentleness to her voice now that betrayed her. Bitty felt his breath coming in a single sharp intake, and tried very hard not to let his shock show on his face as she turned hers towards him. When she continued, he allowed his breath to whistle out between his teeth, as quietly as he could to avoid her hearing. “I mean, just … how do you stop caring what they do and say? How do you stop giving a shit when they do something stupid?” 

“I … uh. I don’t rightly know,” Bitty stammered. This was skirting far too close to his own feelings to be entirely comfortable as a conversational topic. 

“You ever love someone, Bits? Not like a high school crush, but like real, true ride-or-die shit?” 

Bitty could feel the small smile slipping onto his face, and he buried it in his knees for a moment until he was sure he could hide it from her. 

“Yeah. I. Yeah, once, I think. But he doesn’t … didn’t feel the same.” 

“Oh.” The look Lardo gave him was compassionate. “So what’d you do?” 

“I just … ride it out, I guess. Try not to think about it. Carry on.” 

“Did it work?” 

“Oh. Well. You know, you gotta give it time. It’s not a thing that comes right away.” 

Bitty looked out over the houses again. His thoughts were drifting back to Jack again, irritating him. He should, he thought, be able to enjoy Jack’s friendship without his stupid feelings intruding. But there they were again.

Beside him, Lardo sighed. “I guess so. It’s just so frustrating, you know? I wish … I wish you could choose when to love. When it would be a better time, you know? Sometimes it’s maybe the right person, but the wrong time, and that … it sucks.” 

Bitty politely pretended to have no idea who she was talking about. He sighed. “Well, I wouldn’t know. It’s never been the right person for me. Too many straight boys.” 

“Oh, Bits. It’ll happen. One day when you don’t expect it, some wonderful guy will come along and you won’t know what hit you.” 

“I hope so, Lards. But I seem to have a talent for finding the most inappropriate straight boys to fall for.” 

Lardo laughed. “You never know, Bitty. I believe in you.” 

“Yeah, well. I believe in you, too.” 

They fell into another comfortable silence before Bitty shivered in the cool evening air. Lardo’s shoulder, warm against his, wasn’t enough to stave off the frigidity of the weather now the sun had finally set fully. Lardo noticed and bumped his shoulder. 

“What say we go inside and make some hot chocolate? I have a sudden craving for something real sweet and decadent right now.” 

Smiling, Bitty nodded. They stumbled back inside and headed down the stairs, Bitty almost managing to push his feelings for Jack back under some sort of control. As they sipped their chocolates, Bitty almost had himself convinced that he could get past this.


	7. Epikegster

“Bro!  Bro. _Bro,_ ” Ransom called out over his shoulder as he wandered into the kitchen the morning after the Epikegster.

“What?”  Holster said, skidding into the room after him.  “Oh, shit!” he said when he finally looked around enough to take in the state of the room. 

“Shit is right.  We need to do something before Bitty sees this … this desecration.” 

Quickly, they began to work in unison.  Ransom gathered up all the plastic cups that had been scattered through the kitchen, even inside the oven, which … he didn’t even want to imagine how that had happened.  Holster, meanwhile, was pulling out the emergency stash of the paper towels Bitty always had on hand so he could mop up the worst of the stains.   

“I’m not sure if this is even salvageable,” Holster said, eyeing a dish towel someone had apparently vomited into during the night. 

“Yeah, I think we need to hide that one.  Imagine what Bitty would say if …” 

“What Bitty would say if what?”  Bitty said, yawning as he stumbled into the kitchen and headed towards the fridge. 

“Oh. Uh …” Ransom started, as Holster quickly grabbed the offending towel, put it behind his back with a disgusted grimace and started to slide backwards towards the door.  “Nothing.  Just what you’d say if … or when, really … you saw the kitchen.”

Bitty looked around his domain and shuddered theatrically. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the help this morning, guys, but this is a real mess.  What were y’all thinking letting people treat my kitchen like this?” 

“What were _we_ thinking?  Bitty.  Bro.   _You_ were the one holding up the wall with Jack all night when you coulda been protecting ...” 

Bitty blushed scarlet, and huffed out an affronted sigh.  “It was not _all_ night, I’ll have you know.  And if I’m expected to sit in here through all kegsters just to stop some drunks from messing up my kitchen, well, then maybe I’ll have to ban some of y’all from being in here at all …” 

“Bits.  Bitty, bro.  Calm down.  No-one’s saying you have to do that.”  

Ransom cast a panicked look behind him to see if Holster had returned yet.  He was way too hungover for this sort of conversation, particularly without backup. 

Bitty was still vibrating with what looked like righteous fury and Ransom was so far out of his depth that he cast around for something, anything, to say to get him out of this pickle. 

“So, uh.  It was nice of Kent Parson to come last night, huh?” he said, with a touch of desperation.  “Guess he wanted to chat with Jack about the NHL, and all his options.” 

Bitty’s posture didn’t change, but his teeth became even more gritted which Ransom hadn’t even thought was possible.  “Oh, yeah.  It was real nice of him to come.  Just peachy.” 

Ransom had never considered himself to be an observant sort of person but something was obviously really getting to Bitty right now, and he had a good idea what that something was.  Bitty was _clearly_ still angry that they’d suggested he hadn’t looked after his kitchen well enough during the kegster.  Ransom had to do something to pull him out of this weird mood. 

“What should I do about this?” he asked, trying desperately to get that look off Bitty’s face. 

“About what?  Oh,” Bitty said, glancing at what Ransom was pointing at.  “Not to worry, a little baking soda on that will get it right out.  I’ll get right on that.”

He seemed to have settled a little, bustling around like he usually did.  He almost ran into Holster when he returned to the room and giggled a little as they moved about trying to avoid crashing into each other.  Ransom caught Holster’s eye and raised his eyebrow.  Holster nodded slightly, indicating that the offending dish towel had been successfully disposed of. 

“Bro,” Holster said as he started filling the sink with suds to wash the dishes that couldn’t be tossed in the trash.  “That was an epic kegster last night.” 

“Epic!”  Ransom agreed, pulling out another one of Bitty’s cute dish towels to start drying.  “I was just saying to Bitty we’ll be talking about this one for years.  For starters, Kent fucking Parson showed up.  I mean …” 

“Kent Parson,” Holster agreed holding his hand up for a fist bump.  “I bet he and Jack had some serious catching up to do.  Crazy isn’t it?” 

“What’s crazy?” 

“That famous NHL players, ones with Stanley Cup titles even, can just casually come to our little kegsters.  You think it’s always gonna be like this being friends with Jack?” 

“I swear you two are just a couple of gossipy old women,” Bitty chirped out, his smile wide.  He was standing with his hands on his hips and a formidable glint in his eye.  Even with his smile, his mouth was set in a grimace, and he was drawn up to his full height -- something that didn’t happen often, but was scary as hell when it did.  “I sure hope Jack doesn’t hear you gossiping about him like this.” 

“Oh, no.  No way.  We would never.”  Ransom shook his head as quickly as he could, intent on pacifying this terrifyingly aggressive Bitty. 

“Well, I don’t want to hear it either.” Bitty grinned at them, his teeth glinting through what could now almost be termed a snarl. 

Ransom exchanged a look with Holster, who looked just as confused as he felt himself.

“Okay okay, keep your pants on, Bits.  We won’t talk about Jack becoming a famous NHL player around you, either.” 

“Thank you.”  Bitty sighed, his terrifying smile finally slipping off his face.  He dropped his head forward for a moment before he looked back at them with another huge smile, one that thankfully looked more natural this time, with much fewer scary teeth.  “I think … I’m a bit tired still.  I’m going to go back to bed for a bit.  You just call me when my kitchen’s looking its usual beautiful self, and I’ll come on back down and make something nice for brunch.  Okay?” 

He headed out of the room, his shoulders slumped, and Ransom could hear him trudge up the stairs.  He heard the sound of a door opening and the quiet murmur of voices before they were cut off as a door closed.

Ransom looked over at Holster.  “You know what that’s all about?”

“No idea, bro.  Maybe he really was just tired.” 

“Must be it.  He did drink more than usual last night.” 

Holster shrugged, and Ransom mirrored him as they turned their attention back to the mess that remained in the kitchen.  Bitty and his weird moods could wait.  The promise of brunch if they could get this hellhole cleaned up beckoned, so there was no place for worrying about anything else right now.


	8. Annie's

There was a special sort of torture in these visits to Annie’s, Bitty reflected as Jack slid into the booth next to him.  He told himself every single time that this one would be the _absolute last, Bitty; what are you even doing at this point?_ But every single time, Jack would get this look in his eyes and suggest a coffee ‘to save you from the cold, eh, Bittle?’ and Bitty would just … cave.  Like the stupid idiot he knew he was.  Every damn time. 

“It’s March, Jack!  I’m not _that_ affected by the cold!” he said today, huffing in affront at the suggestion that he was that easily chilled. 

“So you admit you think it’s cold?”  Jack’s eyes were twinkling, and Bitty could feel his heart beating faster than it had any right to. 

“Oh shush, you.  I said no such thing, and you know it.” 

“So what I’m hearing is that you don’t want one of your fancy coffees.  I’ll buy black ones for both of us, then …” 

Bitty crinkled his nose in derision, and then had to endure seeing Jack’s face soften as he watched, the blue of his eyes reflecting amusement and something that looked frustratingly like fondness.  There should be a law against going around being so handsome and charming where innocent people were just trying to live their lives. 

“I don’t think so, Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty said to cut off this ridiculous moment he was having.  “ _I’ll_ be ordering, and I think for that chirp you deserve a ‘fancy’ coffee of your own.” 

The disgust on Jack’s face was so pronounced that Bitty couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside him, nor the way that Jack’s responding grin made his stomach flip over. 

 _Stop it, stop it, stop it, you idiot!_ He warned himself as he made his way to the counter.  He’d managed to compose himself by the time he’d returned to their table, but he was careful to keep as far from Jack as he could get in the cramped space. 

They drank in companionable silence for a while, warmth seeping through Bitty’s chest as the coffee heated his hands, before Jack cleared his throat. 

“You’re getting better, Bittle.  With the checking.  I just … I wanted to let you know.” 

Bitty could feel the heat in his cheeks as he glanced up at Jack over the brim of his cup.  Jack looked so serious, so eager for some sort of response, that Bitty choked a little before managing to stammer out a reply. 

“Oh, Lord.  I don’t know about that, Jack.  Don’t feel much like anything’s changed.”

Jack’s brows rose so high at that idea that Bitty couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped him as he looked at this infuriating man.  This infuriatingly wonderful man. 

“Do you really think that?  Bittle, you took everything I could give you today.  Think about the start of the season -- you could barely hold against it for a second.” 

The warmth in Bitty’s chest this time had nothing to do with the coffee he was drinking, and everything to do with this man.  This man who kept getting even more perfect with every day.   

He dragged his eyes away, to avoid letting all his stupid feelings show in his eyes.  It was enough, it had to be enough, to have Jack’s unwavering friendship.  He always gave 100% of himself when he gave anything, and Bitty was grateful, oh lord was he grateful, that Jack had chosen to be his friend, and had given him 100% of his care and attention.  It was just that it was hard to treat him as just a friend when Bitty was so stupidly in love that it hurt.  But, Bitty reminded himself, that wasn’t Jack’s fault.  He couldn’t help the way being near him made Bitty feel, and it wasn’t fair to him for Bitty to treat him any differently.  So he pulled another smile onto his face, and refocused, trying to change the topic to something less difficult to bear. 

“Now don’t think I didn’t notice you singing along to that song just now, Jack Zimmermann.  Are we finally getting through to you?” 

Jack blushed, the colour sitting high on his cheekbones and making them even more prominent, and incidentally more attractive.  Bitty pulled his gaze upwards to Jack’s eyes and snorted at the look in them.  He looked so embarrassed. 

“Oh, Jack -” 

“This is Beyonce, right?” Jack cut in before Bitty could finish the thought.

“Jack!  You’re joking!  Right?”  Bitty spluttered out. 

“Not Beyonce, then.  That Swift girl?” 

Bitty couldn’t keep the laughter from bubbling up again, which was a pity as he’d just taken a sip of his now-cooled coffee and it ended up coming out of his nose.    Jack was instantly solicitous, handing Bitty a napkin with a worried look on his face.  Bitty clamped his hand over his mouth and giggled at the absurdity of the whole situation.  Soon, Jack was laughing with him, and all the sad thoughts Bitty had been entertaining had disappeared. 

By the time they were walking back to the Haus, Bitty was feeling like his usual self.  He pulled his phone out to tweet about how happy he was, and Jack only chirped him once.  As he stuck his tongue out at Jack, Bitty reflected that he was pretty damn lucky, all things considered.  He had a great life and great friends, and if he didn’t have a boyfriend, well … that was something that could come with time.  For now, he’d just enjoy all the things he did have going for him - including the blessing of Jack’s friendship.


	9. July 4th

The first thing Jack had noticed when he’d arrived here in Madison was how ungodly the heat was.  For a place that seemed so obsessed with God and Jesus, this place sure trapped itself out like it was vying to compete with Hell.  His clothes had immediately plastered themselves to his body in a most unpleasantly sticky way.  The things he did for this boy, he’d thought with a rueful smile.  That thought had been enough to speed his heartrate up, and make him look hastily around to see where Bitty might be. 

Consequently, the second thing he’d noticed was how damned _good_ Bitty looked, grinning at Jack across the airport terminal.  His hair had shone in the early afternoon sun that slanted through the glass behind him, and his skin had _glowed_ … there was no other word for it.  His wide brown eyes were so filled with warmth as they’d smiled up at Jack that he’d felt his heart miss a beat.  For all Bitty seemed so at home at Samwell, for all that it felt like he fit so perfectly into the space in the Haus he’d taken over, there was something about seeing him here, where he grew up, that had made Jack’s breath catch.  Bitty looked like he belonged here -- he made sense here, or rather this place made sense of Bitty, shining a new light on him and making Jack think _Oh.  Right._ This _is who Bitty is.  This is what created him_.  The thought had pulled a smile onto Jack’s face as he’d held Bitty in a quick hug. 

Now, so many hours later, both those impressions were back with Jack.  The night was still, the air so thick with heat he almost felt like he could reach out and brush it away from his body, make it less heavy against his skin.  And there was Bitty, cuddled next to him in the back of the truck they’d commandeered to see the fireworks.  He still looked golden, even in the dim light from the fireworks exploding over their heads.  The shifting lights cast flickering shadows over Bitty’s face from the lashes that framed his eyes -- eyes so beautiful they were doing strange things to Jack’s stomach as Bitty peered up at him. 

“Penny for them, Mr Zimmermann?” 

“Huh?”  Jack pulled his thoughts away from wondering how it would feel to press his lips to the places where the shadows shifted on Bitty’s face, just under his eyes. 

“Your thoughts?  You seem miles away.” 

Bitty shifted against him, his leg casually brushing against Jack’s own and sending tingling sparks all the way to Jack’s toes.  Jack could feel the blush starting to paint his cheeks red, and thanked everything he could think of that he was protected by the darkness surrounding them. 

“Oh.  No.  I wasn’t that far, actually.  Just grateful, I guess.” 

“Grateful, huh?  That sounds interestin’ - wanna share?” 

“Just.  Thank you.” 

Jack watched as Bitty’s forehead crinkled in confusion.  It was at once the most endearing thing he’d ever seen, and the most frustrating.  How could Bitty not know how important this was, how happy Jack was right now?  How could he not know how much Jack owed him?  How could Bitty sit there, shining and golden in the shifting lights, and not _get_ it? 

“If anything, I should be thanking you, Jack.” 

It was Jack’s turn to feel confused.  He could feel his own eyebrows scoot upwards and he turned his head a little to look at Bitty straight on.  “For what?” 

Bitty laughed, the sudden sound both startling and joyous in the still of the air around them.  “‘For what’, he says, like he isn’t the most amazing thing ever to happen to this poor Southern soul.  This boy!”  Bitty gave an exaggerated sigh and sat up to turn and look at Jack, plonking himself down into his lap and taking his face in both his hands.  “Jack.  Honey.  I have never been able to be me, here or anywhere really.  Even at Samwell it’s been … off, maybe?”  Bitty’s nose crinkled again, this time indicating his focus on trying to find the right word to explain what he meant.  Jack’s heart did another flip as Bitty waved a dismissive hand, sending the extraneous thought somewhere else, before placing the hand back on Jack’s face and continuing.  “I’ve been pretending so hard that I didn’t want to be with someone, pretending so hard that I didn’t want that someone to be _you_ .  It’s … I still pinch myself every night to see that it’s real.  And you’re _here_ , and I can touch you.  And it’s just so much more than I ever imagined.  Just … thank you.  Thank you for coming here.  Thank you for being here.  Thank you for being you.” 

Jack was mesmerised -- by Bitty’s confidence, his determination, the look in his eyes that so clearly said ‘you listen to me, mister, and you listen good’ and by the slight nod he gave when he finished.  The one that said there would be no arguments.  Jack huffed out a laugh of his own.  He could never match Bitty for words or for sheer force of personality, but he felt in this moment like he didn’t need to try.  He felt like Bitty would understand somehow.   

“Thank you for being you, too.  I …” 

He stopped, wishing he could find some way to express it all better than that.  But before he could get another word out, before he could stumble over several more inadequate words, the expression in Bitty’s eyes softened and he smiled gently. 

“I know.  Sweetheart, I know.” 

He looked so beautiful with the colours of the fireworks playing over his face, and his sincere affection shining out of his eyes,  that Jack couldn’t help himself.  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bitty’s.  He could feel the moment when Bitty let himself melt into the kiss -- his body pressed closer, and Jack imagined he could feel Bitty’s lashes brush his cheek as they fluttered shut.  Jack sighed his contentment. 

No matter how hard this was going to be -- and Jack was under no illusions about how busy they’d both be and how hard it would be to see each other while still keeping things hidden from everyone else -- Jack knew in that moment that it would all be worth it.  Bitty’s lips soft against his own, his breathy sighs as they kissed, his gentle hands still cupping Jack’s face, they all told him the same thing.  They all told him that whatever was happening here was worth it.   

It had been so effortless over Skype, but there’d been a nagging worry in the back of Jack’s mind that it was going to fall apart when they were together in one place again.  Instead, being here with Bitty seemed even more natural than the soft endearments they’d shared over Skype as they grew used to the newness of their relationship and all its frustrating limitations.   

Yes, Jack thought as they pulled apart and Bitty settled back against his side, head tucked onto Jack’s shoulder as if they’d been doing this for years, this was really happening and it was definitely worth whatever was going to come. 

“Thank you,” he whispered again as he brushed his lips over Bitty’s hair, and he smiled as he felt Bitty’s hand tighten on his leg, just fractionally, in acknowledgement.


	10. Distance

[](http://s300.photobucket.com/user/Rose_Muse88/media/CPBB%202%20rs.png.html)

 

The strain was tight around Jack’s eyes.  Bitty could see it as he gazed at his boyfriend through the screen as they skyped.  His heart squeezed, and he wished he could reach out and smooth those lines away.  Instead, Bitty breathed out and smiled at Jack. 

“Honey,” he said, his voice fond, “it’s so good to see your face.” 

Jack smiled back, the tension starting to disappear as he settled back in his bed.  “We only missed one day.  But …” he let a wistfulness creep into his voice which made Bitty’s heart clench in longing, “I really missed talking yesterday, Bits.” 

“I missed you, too.  Time zones and travel are a real killer.”

Jack laughed with a little grimace.  “They are.” 

Bitty sighed a bit as he positioned himself against the pillows more comfortably.  “I’m real sorry about the game,” he said after a long pause. 

Jack flushed.  “Yeah.  Yeah, it was hard.  But, you know … next time, eh.” 

Bitty laughed, feeling his eyebrows raise as he did so.  Jack squinted at him. 

“Why are you laughing?” 

“Oh, Jack.  I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s a funny thing to laugh about.”  Jack’s eyes were alight with mischief as he wrinkled his nose at Bitty. 

“Oh, shush, you.  No chirping when I’m bein’ sincere.”  He reached out to touch the screen as Jack’s expression softened.   

“I’m sorry, Bits.  What were you saying?” 

“I just remember the Jack I knew when I first got to Samwell.  You were so intense, honey.  There’s no way you’d have taken a loss and just said you’d get it next time.” 

Jack blushed again.  “Well, you know.  It was a hard game and we tried our best.  There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“I know.  That’s what’s so great.  That you recognise that.”   

Bitty broke off and stared at Jack for a moment.  His face was still flushed and he was looking down as if embarrassed.  He shrugged as if he could feel Bitty’s gaze on him, then looked up at him from under lowered lashes.  Bitty’s breath caught in his throat. 

“I love you so much,” he breathed.   

“I love you, too.   _So_ much.” 

“I wish I could be there with you.  I wanted to punch that guy who kept targeting you.” 

Jack laughed again, this time the sound free and open.  “I’d like to see you try.” 

Bitty narrowed his eyes in mock anger.  “Just because he’s a giant is no reason I couldn’t take him out.  Honey, I’m not sure you know just how dangerous it is to rile a Southern boy.” 

“Trust me, Bits, I know.” 

“I thought we said no chirping.” 

“ _You_ said no chirping.  I never agreed.”   

Jack was really laughing by this time, and Bitty was pleased to see that all traces of tension in his face and around his eyes were now gone.  He relaxed back against his pillows. 

“Tell me more about your day, Jack.  How was the trip home?” 

“Really great.  Tater was telling this really long story about Russia, and Guy got this look on his face like he was gonna …” 

Bitty smiled happily.  He watched the expressions shift and change across Jack’s face as he got more and more involved in explaining his day.  His hands waved and he leaned forward, trying to impress on Bitty the humour of the situation.  Bitty drew the screen closer to himself, as if he could get closer to Jack by doing so.  There was something very calming in listening to Jack talk so animatedly about the people he worked with.  For all Jack had seemed so closed off and controlled in how he spoke and what he focused on when Bitty first met him, he was now open and vibrant when they talked.   

Bitty was a chatterer; he knew this, and usually he was the one who carried the bulk of their conversations.  But there were days when Jack could out-talk even Bitty.  They usually didn’t come so soon after a hard loss, so Bitty was content to let Jack talk, revelling in knowing that not many others ever saw this side of him.  Most people still saw the awkward hockey-focused Jack of legend, though he was starting to relax and show more of his personality, particularly around Tater on the Falconers channel. 

Eventually, Jack finished the story, his lively explanations having made Bitty laugh in several places.  Bitty grinned at Jack, turning over so he could settle more comfortably into a position for sleeping. 

“You seem tired, Bits,” Jack said eventually.  “Is everything okay?”

Bitty yawned in response before smiling at Jack.  “Yeah, sweetheart.  I’m fine.  I was just up a little late last night wishing I could talk to you.” 

Jack’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he beamed at Bitty.  “I was wishing the same thing.  But I still got some sleep.”  He winked and Bitty laughed out loud, until the laugh morphed into another yawn before he could stop it.

“You stop this chirping, mister.  I was worried about you.” 

“I know.  But you didn’t need to be.” 

“Well, I know that _now_.  Last night, on the other hand …” 

He yawned again, this one shaking his whole body and pulling his eyes closed for a second.  Jack smiled, his eyes showing his exasperated affection. 

“I love you, Bits.  You should get some sleep.  We’ll talk tomorrow?” 

“We surely will, honey.  I love you, too.” 

Bitty was reluctant to hang up the call, despite the yawns which kept splitting his face.  Jack could clearly sense his hesitation because he said gently, “Bittle.  You need your sleep.  You’ll be no good to Rans and Holster tomorrow if you’re this tired.” 

“Using your captain’s voice, Mr Zimmermann?  Talk about bringing out the big guns -- I should know not to mess with you about hockey.” 

Jack laughed.  “Get some sleep, Bits.  I’ll call you after your game.” 

“Night, Jack.  I miss you.” 

“Miss you, too, Bits.”

Jack blew Bitty a kiss before reaching out to his laptop to end the call.  Just before the connection dropped, Bitty sent a kiss back.  He set his tablet aside and turned over to face the wall, already drifting to sleep thinking soft thoughts about Jack.


	11. Hiding

“Chowder.  Hon.  You gotta calm down.” 

The voice seemed to come from a long way away, and Chowder realised he was babbling.  He took a deep breath, blinking as the room around him came into focus again.  Bitty was looking at him, his eyes creased with concern and Chowder could feel the blood heating his face. 

“Oh my gosh.  Bitty, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to get so worked up.  Oh, Farmer is going to be so annoyed.  She said I needed to chill more.  I’m not very chill, though.  I should probably do something for her so she doesn’t stay mad.” 

“ _Chowder!_ ”  Bitty’s voice held command and authority, and Chowder stopped abruptly, clamping his mouth shut and staring at Bitty with what he hoped was a contrite expression.  “Now you just come on over here and sit down.  I have just the pie for this.”

Bitty started bustling around the kitchen now that he seemed sure Chowder wasn’t going to start talking again.  Chowder watched him, amazed anew by how competent he was.  Bitty, Chowder reflected, had this aura of benign happiness about him.  He always seemed so calm and in control, radiating warmth and comfort, and just … Chowder sighed.  He didn’t think he’d ever be as sunny and happy as Bitty was.  Nor as capable. 

“Bitty, can I ask you something?”

“Uh-huh.  Sure thing.” 

“How do you stay so positive all the time?” 

“I don’t.” 

“You don’t?” 

Bitty laughed, and there was something almost bitter in the sound which made Chowder wince. “No, Chowder.  I don’t.  I have my ups and downs just like everyone does.  I just try not to burden others with them, is all.”

“Oh.”  Chowder could feel himself flushing.  “I’m sorry for talking about my stuff, then.  I …” 

Bitty stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.  “I wasn’t intending to make you feel bad.  I don’t mind when people tell me their problems.  I like it, actually.  Sometimes people just need to talk, and I kinda like listening.”  He stopped and stared out the window for a moment and Chowder thought he saw a wistful smile on his face as he turned back to look at Chowder. 

“Now.”  Bitty smiled, wide and sweet, at Chowder.  “That’s enough about me.  What are we going to do about this problem of yours?  I know my pie’s doing you a world of good, but it ain’t gonna solve this.” 

Chowder chuckled.  “I don’t know, Bitty.  This pie is pretty good.” 

Bitty winked at him but shook his head.  “You were pretty upset before, you know.  Not even my pie’s gonna fix that.” 

Chowder could feel his face fall as the anxious knot squeezed his chest again.  He sent Bitty a reproachful look as he put his spoon down.  Bitty squeezed his shoulder before removing the hand and waved at him to keep eating.  Chowder obediently picked up the spoon again, knowing better than to fight Bitty when it came to his baking.

“Now, I know I’m not exactly the greatest example of a studious person, but I know someone who is.  And I think he’s free right about now.” 

“Who?  Ransom?  Holster?  They’re pretty busy I think, Bitty.  There’s so much going on with study for everyone.  I don’t think even the taddies are free.” 

Bitty laughed.  “No, you’re right.  Everyone here’s pretty caught up in study and assignments.  But lucky for you, we know some ex-Hausmates who just happen to have been model students when they were here.” 

“Who?  Shitty’s got law school study to do.  And Jack must be so busy with the Falconers …”

“Well, I just happen to know that Jack is free today.  There’s no game for a few days and they aren’t practicing either.” 

Chowder gasped and grinned at Bitty.  “You know so much about the Falconers, Bitty.  Do you really think Jack might help me out?  Are you sure he isn’t busy?  How do you know so much?  Even Ransom and Holster don’t know as much as you, and he helps them with captain stuff sometimes.”

“Oh, you know.”  Bitty waved a hand around, his cheeks flushed scarlet.  “Falcs TV.  It’s all on there and I like to keep up with my friends.  I know stuff about Shitty, too.”  Bitty’s tone was a little defensive, and Chowder looked at him, beaming, before really paying attention to the crimson staining his cheeks.  He swallowed, realising Bitty was probably a little shy of letting people see how much he still cared about Jack.  It had been obvious last year how big a crush Bitty’d had on Jack and Chowder figured it probably wasn’t polite to keep bringing it up.  How was the poor guy supposed to get over Jack if people harassed him about him all the time?   He admonished himself to pull back and not mention it so much. 

Bitty looked away, with a slight smile on his face, so he didn’t seem to be too annoyed at Chowder.  As he watched, Bitty seemed to shake himself, squaring his shoulders and turning to look back at Chowder with a kind smile.

“As to your question about whether he’d be willing to help - I’m sure he would.  But why don’t we ask him, just to be sure.” 

“What?  Now?”

“Sure.  What better time?”

Bitty pulled out his phone and put through a call.  Chowder forgot his previous worries about his studies in his excitement to be talking to Jack again.  He was so ‘swawesome and famous, it was such a privilege to be talking to him. 

“Oh, hello, Jack,” he managed to gasp out when Bitty handed him the phone with a smirk.  “I … yeah.  I have a study question, if you don’t mind.  Oh gosh you must be so busy …”

Chowder barely noticed Bitty smiling to himself again as he picked up his empty pie plate and took it over to the sink.  He was too overwhelmed to be actually talking to Jack Zimmermann again to worry about Bitty and his weird behaviour anymore.


	12. Falconers

Bitty was babbling.  He knew he was, but he couldn’t stop himself.  Jack surreptitiously rubbed his hand on Bitty’s arm and smiled down at him. 

“You okay?” he whispered, and Bitty nodded, swallowing as he forced himself to stop talking.  He could feel his heart rate slowing down with just that one small gesture from Jack.   

“I just don’t want to make things awkward for you,” he whispered back.  “What if they can tell?  What if they guess?” 

“It’ll be fine,” Jack said, confidence in his voice.  “And if they do notice, I can just tell them you’ve had a hopeless crush on me for years.” 

It took a few moments for that to sink in through Bitty’s anxious thoughts, but when it did he squinted up at Jack in suspicion. 

“Are you chirping me?  At a time like this?” 

Jack made his eyes wide and innocent, but he obviously saw how worried Bitty was because almost immediately he smiled gently and rubbed his hand on Bitty’s back before dropping it and pushing the doorbell.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll stop.  But I promise, it’ll be okay.  The guys bring friends to these things all the time.” 

Bitty took a deep breath as the door opened and he saw Tater’s smiling face. 

“Zimmboni!  You come for once!  And bring a friend!” 

Tater slapped Jack on the back and dragged him into the house. 

“Yeah, haha,” Jack said, his voice strained and his body stiff.  All at once Bitty realised how anxious Jack was as well.  This was the Jack who awkwardly tried to interact with people -- the one who’d seemed so cold and distant because he had no idea what to say. 

“And you have pie?” Tater turned his attention to Bitty, who slapped a smile onto his face. 

“Yessir, I do.  My mama taught me never to turn up empty handed.” 

“I like this friend, Zimmboni.  He can bring pie any time.”

Once they were inside, Tater directed them towards the kitchen where Bitty slid the pie into the fridge with a breath of relief.  Alone for a moment, he reached out and squeezed Jack’s hand briefly and smiled when he turned to look at him. 

“Shall we go meet some people, honey?” 

Jack took a breath, nodded, then preceded Bitty out of the room.  What followed was an almost overwhelming number of greetings.  Many of the people he was introduced to, Bitty knew by sight from the Falcs TV segments, but there were still many whose names and faces all blurred into one. 

Jack, Bitty was pleased to see, had relaxed a lot since the moment they arrived and had been drawn into a conversation in the corner with Guy and Marty about some play the Bruins had used against them a few games back and whether it was something they could adapt for their own team.  Watching him, Bitty sighed and leaned his head back against the wall he’d found to prop up.  He was glad that Jack seemed to be fitting in with his new team. 

“Your pie is wonderful.” 

Bitty started, pulled abruptly out of his thoughts and back into the present moment.  “I’m sorry?” 

“This is your pie, right?”  The guy, whose name Bitty had forgotten, raised the plate he was holding as reference.  “It’s amazing.” 

“Oh.  Thank you.  It’s a new recipe, so I’m glad it worked well.”

“You’re a friend of Zimmboni from college?” 

“Yeah.  He was my captain for my first two years there.” 

“What was he like?” 

Bitty squinted at the guy, who made a show of looking at his plate as if it was the most important thing he’d ever seen.  He should have expected this, Bitty thought.  The legend of the Zimmermann who lost his way hadn’t really faded, no matter how much Jack had tried to put it behind him.  He put on his brightest, most cheerful voice and beamed at the other guy. 

“Oh, he was a wonderful captain.  Very focused, very helpful, very dedicated.  The team was really something when he was there, and we miss him something fierce now he’s here.” 

“That’s … that’s good.  He’s really been an asset here, too.” 

“Well, I’m sure glad to hear that,” Bitty said, still beaming.  His face felt stiff and unnatural, but he needed to keep his wits about him.  “I’ll be sure to tell the other Wellies -- they’re always wondering how the team finds Jack.  We’re very protective of him, you know?” 

He laughed lightly, as if this was a joke rather than a veiled warning about what would happen if people kept trying to weasel information about Jack out of his friends.  From the way the guy swallowed, he could hear the warning behind the words.  He chose to change the subject. 

“Wellies?”

“Oh!  Well … you see …” and Bitty found himself actually genuinely smiling as he explained Samwell to this guy, who ended up thoroughly intrigued.   

Bitty ended up enjoying himself more than he’d originally intended to, and while this wasn’t exactly his kind of party (no dancing … no _Beyonce_ , for goodness’ sake!), he found himself warming to the other players, most of whom were less obvious in their interest about Jack’s past.  So when Jack approached him a couple of hours later and said they needed to go home Bitty was more reluctant to leave than he had expected. 

“So, how did you find it?”  Jack’s voice was tentative, worried, and Bitty squeezed his arm in reassurance. 

“I had a great time.  Those guys are pretty decent.  Not as good as Wellies, of course, but then who _could_ match up to Shitty?” 

Jack laughed, taking Bitty’s hand in his as they started the car to head back to his apartment.  “I’m glad you had fun.  It wasn’t too awkward though?” 

“No, honey, not at all.  Some of the guys wanted to know about how you were at Samwell, but I kept it as distant as I could and they seemed to be happy with what I said.” 

“Good.  That’s good.  It’s important to me that you get along with them.” 

“I know, honey.  And I do.  It was fun,” he repeated as he reached over to kiss Jack’s cheek.   

As they drove off, Bitty reflected that now this first meeting was out of the way, he was actually really looking forward to seeing some of the guys again.  They had been open and welcoming, and Providence was beginning to feel a little like a second home.  That was, he thought, really nice.   Having never felt like he fit in anywhere, it was so lovely to have places now where he did feel at home.  


	13. Coming Out

Eric Bittle Senior would never describe himself as a particularly touchy-feely emotionally-attuned guy, but some things just couldn’t be ignored.  Things such as the atmosphere at this dinner table tonight.  Suzanne, who was much more in tune with nuances in the atmosphere surrounding her, was chattering at her fastest speed -- a sure sign that she had picked up on something, and felt like she had to talk the bad mood into submission.  Junior, by contrast, was staring at his plate with a fixation that was as intense as it was quiet.  His face was pale and he ate as if the world depended on it.  Eric looked at his own plate.  He’d barely touched the food himself.  Maybe he wasn’t as immune as he’d thought to the weird tension he could feel pressing in at the edges of this dinner table. 

He cleared his throat.  “So, uh, Junior.  Your hockey team’s doing quite well this year, then?” 

Junior jumped, startled, his fork clattering to his plate.  His gaze flickered up to his father’s, showing him wide, fearful eyes. Suzanne’s chatter stopped abruptly as she looked between them. 

“Um.  Yes, sir.  We are doing well.  There’s some time to go yet, but I think we have a chance to go all the way this year.” 

Junior picked up his fork again, obviously intending to go back to his militant eating.  For some reason he couldn’t determine, Eric felt like he shouldn’t allow that to happen.  That something was going on here, beyond what he could understand.  Something that involved Junior, but something that Junior was quickly backing away from. 

“That’s.”  He cleared his throat again - and why on earth was he feeling like he had to do that so often this evening?  “That’s real good, Junior.  I’m proud of you.” 

Junior shared a look with his mother, before looking at him again.  His cheeks were reddening, and something like disbelief hovered in the brown depths of his eyes. 

“Thank you, sir.  That means a lot.”  There was now a suspicious glint in Junior’s eyes as he said it, and he quickly dropped his gaze back to his plate.   

This time, Eric was the one sharing a look with Suzanne.  She nodded at him encouragingly.  Her chatter was completely gone now, and Eric was grateful.  It was nice to know she supported him in this, but it was something he knew he had to say himself. 

“Junior?” 

“Yes, Coach?” 

“You know we … uh.  That we, your mother and I, that we’ll always be proud of you, right?”  He took Suzanne’s hand, feeling her fingers tighten on his for a brief second as she looked over at their son. 

Junior just stared at him, his lips pursed as if holding back something.  He shook his head almost imperceptibly before returning his attention to the food. 

“We mean it, Dicky.  You’re our son, and we couldn’t be any prouder of you.  We’ve always been proud of you.  I hope you know that.” 

“Mother …” Junior’s voice hitched a little as he added softly, “Mama.  Coach.”  his eyes were filled with tears now, and one slipped and ran down his cheek before he swiped at it viciously.  His voice when he next spoke was so soft Eric could barely make it out.  “I don’t want you to be disappointed.” 

“Oh honey, we could never be disappointed in you.  Could we, Eric?” 

‘Oh.  Uh.  No, definitely not.”  The look in Junior’s eyes -- the desperate hope that flashed in them -- made Eric’s heart constrict.  How did things get to this point?  How did Junior ever start thinking that he might not be good enough?  “Junior.  Why would you think we’d be disappointed?” 

“No reason, sir.”  Junior’s cheeks were stained red again, and the focus of his attention on his food was even more pronounced.   

Eric cleared his throat again, and in the silence that followed, Junior sighed, and added, “I’m not … not what you expected me to be.  I can’t be that person, Coach.” 

“Son, we don’t have any expectations.” 

This time the look Junior gave him was pure disbelief mixed in with disdain.  It was so pointed that Eric couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension break as he did so. 

“Okay, so maybe once upon a time I wanted a football star for a son,” he said, chuckling.  “But you must know that I ...” Eric stopped, tripping over the words he was about to say, feeling the flush rising in his own cheeks before he forced himself to continue in a more serious tone.  “That I love you.  Just the way you are.  You’re everything I never knew I wanted in a child.”  Suzanne’s fingers tightened on his once again and he sent her a grateful look. 

Junior was openly crying now, the tears on his cheeks left unheeded.  He took a shuddering breath and looked up at them again.  

“Mother.  Coach.  I need to tell you something.” 

He looked even paler than he had before this whole conversation started, and his hands were shaking.  But he also looked determined, his chin set in a very familiar defiance.  Eric glanced at Suzanne again, to see her startled eyes looking back at him.  There was a long pause before Junior spoke again. 

“I’m … I’m gay.” 

The words came out faint, and Junior started crying again, his eyes pleading as he looked at them.  Suzanne recovered first. 

“That’s … it doesn’t change anything, Dicky.  You’re still our son.” 

Eric coughed.  “I can’t say that comes a surprise, son.  I, uh.  I still love you.” 

Junior sniffed, fresh tears making tracks down his cheeks, then he jumped up from the table and rushed around to give his mother a hug.  Eric rested his hand on his son’s shoulder, trying to let him know without words that he was cared for, no matter what. 

“Oh, lord, I’m such a mess,” Junior managed to get out between sniffles. 

Eric let his hand slide to his son’s back and gave him a small hug, before pulling away with a pat.  Junior climbed into his mother’s lap, curled up the way he had as a small kid, and sobbed into her shoulder.   

Eric could feel his own throat tightening up, so he coughed again and said, “I’ll go grab some … uh.  Water.  Kitchen.” 

Several minutes later, by the time he had composed himself, and poured Junior a glass of water, his son had returned to his spot at the table and looked a little more like his old self.  He was chatting to his mother almost naturally about school, the hockey team and some new recipes he was dying to try out while he was home.

Eric smiled to himself and let their chatter wash over him.  Junior was going to be okay, and he was glad he’d finally told them what they had long suspected.  So long as his son was happy, Eric didn’t really care who made him feel that way, and he was glad he and Suzanne could finally acknowledge that to the most important person in their lives.


	14. Family

The late afternoon sun was slanting into the warm kitchen at Bitty’s parents’ house in Madison.  Bitty thought of it fondly, still.  It was a place he’d grown up in, after all, but it wasn’t _his_ place anymore.  It had definitely shifted, and become the house where he came to see his parents, not the house he thought of as home.  That was the Haus, or maybe even Jack’s apartment in Providence. 

Thinking of Jack, Bitty could feel the small smile slide onto his face.  He could hear Jack’s voice, gentle and calm in the room next door where he was talking with Coach.  Their chat was punctuated with the occasional laugh -- Jack’s quiet chuckle mingling with Coach’s more booming rumble. 

“They get on well,” his mother said, her hands flying as they cut the peaches for the pie they were making for dessert that evening. 

Bitty kept pressing the pie crust into the tin, making sure it was evenly spread and ready to chill before baking.  “They do.  I’m glad.” 

“Honey, you have to know how happy Coach was when he heard about you and Jack.” 

Bitty laughed, putting the crust into the fridge.  “I bet he was.  Jack was a little overwhelmed by how enthusiastic Coach was when we arrived this afternoon.” 

“Oh, lord, sweetheart, you should have seen your father pacing before you got here.  He was so worried Jack wouldn’t like him.” 

“Well, seems like there’s nothing to worry about there,” Bitty said, feeling fondness for his father welling up in his chest. 

The laughter from the next room had intensified slightly as they talked, and Bitty could feel his heart swell.  The whole time he’d been growing up, he’d never thought he could have this -- bringing his partner home, and having his parents accept both of them as family.  His throat closed up a little with sadness as he thought about young Bitty, so scared and anxious that his parents wouldn’t love him -- couldn’t love him -- if they knew.  He wanted to wrap that younger self up in a hug and whisper in his ear that it was going to be okay.  More than okay.  That it was going to be wonderful. 

Instead, he wrapped his arms around his mother’s shoulders.  “I love you, Mother.” 

She patted his hand, her eyes bright as she looked over her shoulder at him. 

“I love you, too, Dicky.  It’s nice to see you happy; Jack’s a good boy.” 

By which Bitty knew she meant that she was happy for him and that she approved his choice.  Feeling tears pricking his eyes, Bitty tightened his grip around her before releasing her again. 

“I am so happy, Mama.  You don’t have to worry about me.” 

“I know.  Doesn’t stop me, though -- you’re my little boy, and always will be.” 

Bity laughed and bumped her arm with his.  “Not so little, Mother.” 

She smiled and patted his face.  “I guess not.  Not as big as that hockey player of yours, though.  Oh my!”  She pretended to fan herself, and Bitty sniggered, blushing.

“Mother!  He’ll hear you!” 

“Oh, let him hear.  He’s family - needs to get used to us Bittles.”

Family.  Bitty smiled again, then kissed her cheek.  “Thank you.  For everything.” 

She waved him off, grinning.  “Hush about all that.  Now, you’d better go spend some time with your father and that man of yours.  Your dad’s been counting down the days til you arrived -- he’s dying to talk to you.” 

Bitty pulled a beer out of the fridge and headed into the other room.  He reflected that he pretty much had the perfect life now.  He’d never imagined that the path he’d set his feet on when he was younger would lead to all this.  That his parents wouldn’t just tolerate all parts of him, but welcome them with open arms.  His younger self would have been shocked if he could see Bitty now, but Bitty wouldn’t have changed anything he’d been through.  It had all been part of leading him to this point. 

As he entered the room, Jack smiled up at him, and reached out a hand.  Bitty’s heart filled with love as he curled up next to his boyfriend and looked over into the smiling face of his father.  This may not be his home anymore, but he was grateful that he could still feel at home here.  That he could have it all, and be happy.


End file.
